SoulSucker

Chapter 1: 2007 Millennial Focus

The first thing I sold was my heart. Well, I suppose that’s inaccurate, or rather, it isn’t the full story. Let’s start over. I didn’t read the terms of service. Before you come at me, call me an idiot, let me ask you something. Did you read the terms of service? Maybe you’re reading this on real paper and you never even saw the terms of service. The Five Congresses are gearing up to make sure paperbacks and hardcovers, of which little remain, include the ToS, but maybe you somehow got your lucky hands on an actual piece of paper in this undying corpse we call life. If you didn’t get your filthy grubby hands on that treasured piece of parchment, you’re probably reading this on a little screen–or a big one. Who knows? Maybe it’s a black screen, maybe it’s a white one, or maybe it’s a holoscreen if you’re privileged. It doesn’t matter. There’s a good chance you just skipped right over the terms of service, so I don’t want to hear anything about how stupid I am. These thoughts have been ContraThot-approved.

I didn’t notice right away. Maybe I did. I don’t know. I sold my confidence sometime after I sold the memory of selling my heart, or maybe I rented it? Okay, I’m off track again. You get it, right? I sold my focus too, but don’t fret your pretty head. You’ve got a pretty head, yeah? Well, don’t worry. I bought a bottle of 2007 Millennial Focus just for this. This will be my last publication. I’m afraid that I’ve lost my mind, or at least peace of it. Get it? I haven’t sold my sense of humor yet. They’re only offering thirty chips per month, or a one-time payment of five hundred digital chips for my particular brand of humor. Can you believe that? Thirty DC for my wit? Be for real. If I hold onto it long enough I think the value could easily double, triple even, but like I said; this will be my last publication.

Before I get into it, I’m contractually obligated to drop the sponsor, so…

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Are you still there? Alright, good. Sorry about that. You know how it goes. Everybody’s got bills to pay. I’m still selling off the memories of all the blue hedgehog fanfics I’d been commissioned to write since my success. My point is that giving a little blurb and shouting out a product or justified war crime here or there isn’t nearly as stressful as figuring out the exact anatomy of—you know what? I said I wouldn’t do this. I said I wouldn’t talk about it anymore. I took a chip for the memory of that blue thing’s name for a reason. I sold it to some poor chump with tired sunken eyes that clearly needed it more than I did. Wanted it at least. I even threw in my drawing skills, which wasn’t much, but damn I was good at drawing that blue thing’s thing. I just wish I sold that kid everything. A rose without a name is still a rose, and nine thousand pages of smut is still smut… I sold most of my knowledge of Shakespeare, but I think he said something like that. I didn’t sell his name. You’ve got a basic understanding of economics, right? Supply and demand? Loads of people would pay to be an expert on Shakespeare, but only an idiot or someone fiscally irresponsible would pay just to know the guy’s name–and if you sell off something like that, good luck trying to find a replacement.

I’m going to the movies tonight. I think I used to like doing that. They’re premiering an adaptation of my life tonight. I never watch them on purpose really, but last month, during a stint of writer’s block, I ventured out for some inspiration. I bought two tickets to First Kiss. It was supposed to be life-changing, inspirational, but to me, it was a slog. The main CharAIctor, a middle school boy, was immature, lazy, sloppy, and kind of off-putting if we’re being honest. Critics say it’s one of the most remarkable and introspective experiences of our lifetimes. I wore a scowl through the entire film, muttering under my breath about the glorification of trivial juvenile romances. For fuck’s sake, half the movie was literally under a pink filter. Could you get any more cliche if you tried? It wasn’t until the credits rolled, and I saw my own name that I realized I produced this shitstream.

On the way back to my apartment, I bought that bottle of focus I was telling you about. It’s my second one. A bottle of 1800’s determination is a lot more expensive and a lot harder to come by these days. It’s artificial anyway. I figured that the absolute disgust of seeing my first kiss would have to suffice for proper motivation. I couldn’t afford that either–the motivation–but I wasn’t dumb enough to sell all of mine, yet. Just let me polish off a bit of this focus, and I’ll tell you how we got to this point. I do mean ‘we’, by the way. You’re as much a part of this as I am. I wouldn’t even be in this fucking mess if it weren’t for you. If you think I want to spend my night gagging on a bottle that cost me more than my divorce or whatever, well, maybe you’re right. I think my therapist would’ve said something like ‘you gotta share the responsibility’, but I sold her advice some time ago.

I’m told I have fans, but I couldn’t fathom why. Based on the reviews and pervasive conversations I’ve read on stream, you’re probably hoping this book is about what my father did to my mother, or the time I was declared dead for seven minutes, or another compilation of my wet dreams. Well, I’m not legally allowed to write about that. SoulTek bought the rights to My Dad The Demon, but I doubt it’ll be released any time soon. Seven Minutes was shelved due to its short length. Apparently people’s attention spans have increased about nine times over the last few decades. Most people prefer stream episodes to be about ten minutes, and movies to be about fifteen minutes these days. SoulTek didn’t like how risqué Seven Minutes was either. That’s why I sold Wet Summer to EduBate. It’s nine hours long, but they’ll take anything so long as it’s even vaguely educational. If Wet Summer does well enough, maybe I can afford to buy back the rights to Seven Minutes, but it would all be for moot. This is my last publication. These thoughts have been ContraThot-approved.

It’s kicking in now.

The focus.

The first thing I sold was my heart, but that isn’t the beginning–it’s just chapter one.

No.

It’s the prologue.

I remember stumbling to my front door, abandoning my laptop the moment the doorbell chimes, more than eager to escape the prison of my writer’s block.

When I opened the door…

Chapter One.

She’s beautiful.

Her hair is of silky auburn waves, seemingly emitting a neon glow as it shifts.

Her eyes are a brilliant emerald hue, contrasted by an icy gaze that threatens to pierce through my very existence.

I knew from the moment she parted her perfectly luscious lips who she was.

SoulSucker.